


There You Were

by SilverCardinal



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: M/M, Post 5, Reincarnation, Sibling Incest, Spardacest Week, Vergil centric but also very focused on his relationship with Dante, mentions of nero/kyrie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCardinal/pseuds/SilverCardinal
Summary: Since coming back from the Underworld, since letting himself have a moments rest, letting himself dream; Vergil sees and learns how intertwined his and Dante's lives were.That all of the anger, intimacy and longing are transcendent.





	There You Were

Vergil never noticed how little sleep he gave himself since returning from the underworld. He stayed with Dante in his shop (if he could even call it that), went on any jobs with his brother or wandered around the town doing, honestly, whatever he wanted. No urge to find the next source of power or mindlessly follow another demon’s bidding.

He finds himself just feeling... content.

Dante welcomes him to sleep on the bed or couch in the shop, it isn’t even that they need sleep to begin with but it’s something of a luxury Vergil supposes. One that Dante likes to indulge himself with along with daily meals of pizza and ice cream. Vergil can’t even remember the last time he slept somewhere remotely comfortable without any lingering paranoia in the back of his mind.

So Vergil sleeps. He dreams.

* * *

Sometimes it’s on a sunny day on a cross-street, or a frigid night by a frozen dirt path.

Once, it was a warm evening, fireworks on a hill and there’s someone else next to him, a comforting presence but Vergil is too fixated on the sparkles and colours in the skies to see the person’s face.

Sometimes he’s tired, he doesn't realize it immediately, having to squint a little harder to try and make out the other person’s features only to realize he’s absolutely exhausted and spent.

Sometimes his eyes are worse than before, and the weight of the glasses are heavy on his nose bridge; another time, he lacked sight altogether, and an unknown part of himself worries. Worries that he’ll miss him, if not for his hands, the sound of his voice that lets Vergil breath a bit easier. He’s there, just as he always is.

Sometimes he’s angry - no, he’s almost always angry. Sometimes so angry that all he can see is red. Anger is transcendent, someone told him once; maybe it was in another dream. Some dreams are harder to remember than others but Vergil always remembers someone by his side or the longing ache to have that person there.

* * *

It’s been a more than a week now since Vergil has started sleeping somewhat regularly. He isn’t sure what to make of his dreams, they feel foreign yet familiar at the same instance; puzzling but comforting.

An enigma that Vergil can’t help but want to try understand.

“My dreams?” Dante raises a brow. “Taking up psyche or something dear brother?”

Vergil crosses his arms, he knew Dante wouldn’t make this easy but he still bristles at the response. “Something,” he replies tightly.

Dante lets out a tune of a hum, “Well, I had a dream about you once.”

“Oh?” Vergil leans forward with intrigue on his face.

“Yeah, a few times really.” Dante leans back in his seat.

Vergil tilts the can to read his brother’s expression. He almost pulls off casual interest.

“How are you sure if it’s me in all your dreams?”

“Well, no one else could ever give me better head than you,” Dante says the last syllable with the most smug look on his face. “Even in my dreams I would know that-.”

“Oh fuck you,” he hisses. Bristling like a cat.

“I think you prefer the other way but I accept the invitation regardless.”

Vergil chucks the telephone at Dante’s head and it just flies over Dante’s shoulder as he dodges out of the way with a shit-eating grin.

* * *

Sometimes he is sorry. Sorry for taking his things, sorry for making him angry, sorry for being better than him, sorry for leaving him behind and all of the above.

Mostly, he's not. He’s not exactly cruel about it, not every time at least, although those times exist as well and make Vergil hate him a little more than the usual, but they are perhaps the exception if he's being honest with himself.

Sometimes Vergil forgives him.

Sometimes he regrets it.

Sometimes there's a blade to his chest and he wants to kill Vergil again ( _again_ , the word sticks to his throat uncomfortably).

He has multiple dreams like that. Vergil can't even say that these particular feelings are one-sided in anyway either.

In one dream, he laughs when Vergil tells him he wants to kill him. He takes Vergil’s hands and puts them around his own neck and laughs. It’s so clear, Vergil can almost make out all of the details on his face.

 _Do it_ , he says, once, twice and then some more. Vergil can't keep track of but his hands just remain around his throat, stilled, and all he can see is red.

He's insufferable and strangely, Vergil finds it easier when he is. It feels familiar and it's something that he's used to working with.

* * *

Vergil decides to go to Fortuna to try and find an explanation. Nero is still on edge about having his biological father in his life but still welcomes him to his home, lets Vergil say hello to Kyrie and introduce himself to their foster children.

 _‘Your son is an amazing person. Don’t make him regret giving you a chance,”_ a soft voice in the back of his head reminds him.

Nero leads him to the Order’s documentation, even helps Vergil find articles that would help him.

There isn’t a complete answer when they go through the Order’s lengthy vault of records. It’s only bits and pieces and even then Vergil isn’t sure if he’s even on the right track. Past lives? Transcended memories? It all makes him incredibly skeptical but then again, he doesn’t have any other answer to go on.

“You okay?” Nero awkwardly takes a step towards him. It’s only when Vergil sees there’s a faint concern on Nero’s face that he realizes he was staring at the same text for several minutes.

“I’m fine.” Vergil shakes his head. It’s been hours, despite the countless scripts, only a few even touched upon what Vergil was looking for. Even then, it only gave him a vague, far-fetched possibility that would require a very stretched out imagination.

After combing through all of that text, all Vergil had to go on was that he was seeing his past lives. One recounted how the few moments of breathlessness a man endured before gasping for air, he saw his life flash before his eyes along with a life that was not his.

Another one stated how a girl claimed she saw the lives of multiple people during her week long coma.

And another was an entry about a man who claimed that he was visited by Sparda himself and gifted the insight of his past, his soulmate and where he could find them in the present.

It’s a complete mess of theories and Vergil finds himself even more frustrated than before.

But, even if he believed in his haphazardly put together hypothesis...

They’re meant to be _his_ past lives, so why was Dante a constant in his dreams? He is certain of it now, no one else could manage to be so insufferable and cause him so much frustration to transcend lifetimes.

Another question that he would likely never get an answer for.

* * *

He hates the memories of his time as Nelo Angelo but there is something that Vergil remembers one night. Dante is already asleep next to him and only stirring to tug a bit more of the blanket to his side.

When he was under Mundas’ control, Vergil knows he dreamed but he isn’t sure how much of it was dreams (or rather nightmares) or watching his body be toyed with by the other demon in his limbo. The more Vergil thinks about it, he most definitely died when Mundas turned him into Nelo Angelo, his body had yet to catch up. But of course, Dante was there. To put an end to Nelo Angelo but at the time Vergil wasn’t even sure if his brother was real or apart of the illusion of his constant half-sleep.

Dante was always in his dreams now that he recalls, some more vivid than others. Dreams of their life if their childhood didn’t end with their mother’s death or ones where they could just be together without the scent of blood on their trail.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrap themselves around Vergil’s waist and a face burying itself into the back of his neck that startles him.

“I can hear your overthinking,” Dante breaths on his skin. “Sleep Vergil.”

* * *

The more Vergil dreams (recalls), the more he is certain it’s a curse more than anything.

There’s blood under his fingernails, bruises on his ribs and he’s fresh out from being assigned a week of detention. It's the most the teachers are willing to give him despite the severity of the fight and his parents are so disappointed. They're walking out of the principal’s office and keep telling him to stay away from that boy at all costs but Vergil doesn’t know how to tell them that he’s tried, but the words don't form on his mouth. He wants to say that no matter what life it is, that boy is always there and he can't do anything about it _._

It’s the past, his past life and of course, he wouldn't know that then. He never knew then, and even now he can’t change how intertwined their lives have been (and always will be).

* * *

“Got a gig,” Dante announces one night.

Vergil looks up from his notes, “Is that so?”

Dante hums in confirmation, he grabs a non-bloodied shirt from the small pile of clothes on the couch.

"Gonna head out now. It's out of town."

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Nah,” Dante waves him off. “Shouldn’t take that long. Don’t miss me too much,” he finishes the sentence with a grin

Vergil presses one of his hands to the side of his face. He doesn’t know why he’s disappointed, or what he expected. He recognizes his brother’s snarkiness and his responding annoyance.

Dante plants a firm kiss on his temple and the comfort that comes from it anchors Vergil back down.

Vergil scoffs, waving him away. “As if. For once I will have some peace and quiet along with the smell of not-day-old-pizza.”

“Awww, don’t be so cold.” Dante takes his coat from the chair Vergil is sitting on.

There’s a chill when Dante opens the door and Vergil grimaces when it hits his skin.

“Delivery number is on the wall and make sure to get your beauty sleep!” Dante leaves with a lazy salute, doesn’t even let Vergil respond to the comment.

“Jackass,” he mutters.

* * *

It’s the dreams when he’s somewhat considerate that throw Vergil off-balance. It’s when he’s thoughtful and kind and when he legitimately tries to show that he wants to build _something_ that it feels awry, wrong and Vergil is certain that he’s just _fucked_ in this life.

He makes Vergil feel like he’s dying every moment he’s with him, and every moment without.

* * *

Occasionally, the dreams wake Vergil up. Sometimes slowly with his eyes waking to streams of daylight and sometimes suddenly with a cold sweat on his back.

Regardless, the last thing that Vergil sees in his dreams is the colour red.

It’s always red of with him. His clothes, his hair, the blood on his skin or just his aura he would exude; all Vergil can remember is red, red, red. The only colour Vergil has ever loved.

* * *

There’s a version where he kisses Vergil on a busy street and he doesn’t care who’s watching, doesn’t care that he’s turning Vergil inside out or that they are both in a rush. Vergil doesn’t care that he’ll be late for his class nor does he care about anything really. Not right now.

It’s a version where his hair and eyes are dark. He has a ring of angel wings tattooed on his wrist, demons on his neck and he makes Vergil want to push him far, far away so he doesn’t even see him ever again and hold him close and tight so that they never part.

* * *

There’s another version where they meet in a half crowded party. Vergil’s hair is a bit too long for his liking and he has piercing on his brow and another on his lip that is perfectly highlighted when his smiles. He yells bad pickup lines in Vergil's ears for half the night right up until they leave.

His mouth is scorching hot at the nape of Vergil’s neck, the points of his teeth grazing his skin just enough to make Vergil shudder.

It’s just once. Amazing and unforgettable, and it is all that it ever is. They never met again.

* * *

All things considered, this life is one of the better ones (it’s still a bit early to determine given how volatile their relationship has been for most of their lives).

Having to deal with Arkham, Nelo Angelo, the Qliphoth tree and yet Dante still wanted Vergil in his life, and things are good if Vergil had to describe it.

It’s his son’s wedding. Nero’s wedding, part of Vergil wanted to run away, as far as possible. He didn’t deserve to be at such a meaningful event, yet Nero’s mechanic friend manages to drag him with her honking her van outside of the shop to pick him up. He doesn’t know anyone here but Nero, Kyrie gives him a genuine smile and thanks when he compliments her wedding gown but Vergil stays along the frays of the crowd as he watches the newlyweds dance in the center.

But something in the air changes. The volume of chatter increases with a single voice being in the spotlight of his hearing.

He looks up and sees a spot of worn red leather in the crowd of bright silks and cottons because of course he would be wearing his favourite coat and fashionably late.

Vergil feels himself exhale.

_There you are._

In his other lives, Vergil isn’t not quite certain, but thinks of the faint memories of Dante. He remembers them and knows it was _always_ him in those countless lifetimes, abstractly anyway, as if there was something impeding the recollection but Vergil can not place it and maybe he won’t ever completely remember.

Those dreams, those memories. 

He looks at his brother’s face and recognizes the same smile from some of his past lives and some of the lines around his eyes from others. They’re both older than the last lifetime where he killed him and much older than than the lifetimes where they meet only once. Seeing those lifetimes in just a few months still made Vergil feel like he lived those years in their entirety, made him feel older. Perhaps too old for there to be much anger and bitterness to be burning in him.

Their eyes meet from across the room, and Vergil knows that look; he’d know that look anywhere.

 _There you are,_ it says. Dante smiles at him. It's warm.

And Vergil smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> I chill over here on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bee_bloo) :)


End file.
